pikelet
by RebelzHeart
Summary: Moments between Stephanie and Jason.


"Yo," Steph falls into a cross-legged position next to Jason on the edge of the roof, granola bar in hand as she hands one to Jason, "What're you doing up here?"

Jason takes off the Red Hood helmet and raises an eyebrow at her, "Not much," he answers breezily, "You?"

"Ah, y'know, just the usual," Steph takes a bit of her granola, the edges of her mask crinkling up, hair pulled back into a tight braid. "Stopped a couple of robberies, talked someone out of suicide and stopped a drug cartel." A twitch of her lips, amusement at her own words, "All in a day's work."

"Naturally," Jason agrees, trying (and failing) to bite back a smile. "And you decided to end this ordinary day with a completely ordinary visit to your favourite outlaw?"

"Oh, yes," Steph falls into easy banter despite never really talking to Jason. She's smooth, charismatic, in an unblemished way that even Dick could never hope to be, "Just let me get my taser so that I can bring you to the cops, yeah? And of course, I'll let you keep your gun, totally trust you to stay peaceful."

He laughs for a bit and then sobers, "So seriously, why are you here?"

Steph squints at him for a moment, and then sighs. "I heard that you died."

Jason, despite being startled, keeps his expression neutral, "And here I was, thinking that you were going to say something that I didn't know."

Steph shuffles, moving her legs out of their crossed position and swinging them over the edge of the roof. "Tim Tom said that you were beaten to death."

It shouldn't have the effect that it has on him, shouldn't steal the breath from his lungs and make his world spin, but it does, it makes his chest tight and his eyes closed and before he knows it, he's completely shut down because since when could Jason ever deal with his fucking issues?

To her credit, Steph doesn't burst into apologies, doesn't break her neck saying _sorry_ , just waits him out and then says calmly, "I'll take that as a yes."

Jason doesn't say anything, doesn't dare, not when his breath is still caught in his throat and his knuckles are still white, nails digging into the palms of his hand and head bowed.

"Here," Steph shoves a piece of paper into Jason's utility belt, "In case you want to stalk me or something."

She leaves him, cape flying behind her, a flash of purple and a grappling hook before she's gone, and Jason wonders when he was so easily triggered by something so small.

* * *

Jason's life is split into two pieces.

Before dying. Little. Stupid. Arrogant.

After dying. Bigger. Less stupid. A bit more afraid. (Rightly so, he thinks viciously, but it doesn't change the strange looks that he receives when he's skittish at the grocery store.)

When he drops by the address (a little apartment, flowers littering the balcony and a sticky note against the sliding door with the words _Use the damn door, Dami_ scrawled in skinny little letters, followed by an excess of exclamation marks.

Jason stares at the sticky note and considers it for a moment before opening the sliding glass (surprisingly... or perhaps not surprisingly, considering the note... it's unlocked).

The smell of something like waffles wafts into the air and there's a yell of "Can't you _read_ , short stack?" before Steph appears at a nearby doorframe, blinking as Jason steps into her bedroom, two bullets in his shoulder and dripping like an idiot over her floor.

Steph doesn't waste time gaping, she's too smart for that, too experienced despite the fact that she's the least experienced in the Batclan (but even so, she knows her stuff, Jason can tell by the way that her muscles are always forcibly relaxed, how her hands are always free, loose), instead she just points at a bottle of peroxide sitting conveniently on her dresser a few steps away and crawls under her bed. When she reemerges, she has a bandage roll in hand and she closes the curtains with a pointed stare.

"For the sake of all that's good and right, just sit down," she groans, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and pointer finger. "I've had enough fainting vigilantes to know that standing thanks to pride is pure idiocy."

Jason's back slams against the wall rather forcefully before he slides down to the ground and pulls off his helmet. "You were closest," he says in lieu of apology and Steph glares at him.

"No kidding," she says, "Not like anybody would come here for the pleasure of my company."

Jason turns bright red and Steph rolls her eyes at him before chucking the bandage roll at him.

"Fix yourself up," she orders, and mumbles under her breath, "Since you probably wouldn't let me do it for you, stubborn idiots."

Jason can't help but smile at that. He can imagine the others insisting that they're fine and can do it themselves, despite being obviously unqualified. "I really _can_ do it myself, though."

Steph squints at him. "You get shot?"

"It'll be a temporary fix, just to stop the bleeding while I get to my safehouse."

Steph rolls her eyes and mutters a few unsavoury things under her breath. " _Or,_ you could just fix it in _my_ safehouse. Yeesh, you act like I'm not prepared for this kind of stuff." She points at her bedside dresser again, "First aid kit is in the bottom drawer. Anesthetic is in the red bottle, you can use the small knife... do _not_ use the big one, Tim says that he took it from a serial killer and I haven't disinfected it yet... and dissolvable stitches are..." she frowns and sighs, "You know what, you can figure it out. I'm making pikelet, if you're still here when I come back, I guess you can have some."

Jason grins at her, "Who am I to pass up on pancakes?"

"Yeah, well," Steph raises a pointed eyebrow, "Don't die before then."

She doesn't sweep out of the room, per say, but her exit is a lot smoother than Jason had initially predicted, especially with the amount of blood coming out of him.

Ah, well.

He picks up the knife and takes off his suit. No need for anesthetic anyway...

* * *

Steph nearly burns herself when Jason screams.

A quick glance shows that he, idiot that he was, chose not to use anesthetic and _then_ (even worse) used _her_ disinfectant, as in, peroxide, very painful, stings a lot and should _not_ be poured directly onto a wound in _that_ quantity.

"Bats and birds," she mutters to herself, "What did _I_ do to be surrounded by such idiots?" She finishes flipping the pikelet in the pan and pours the batter for the next one in before yelling, "There's anesthetic for a reason, idiot!"

There are some banging sounds and then a muffled, "I can handle it!"

Steph tries very hard to think of something other than strangling Jason Todd. She's pretty sure that the rest of the clan wouldn't appreciate her killing him a second time.

"No, you can't," she mutters under her breath, sour and irate, "That's why there's a _fucking anesthetic,_ thanks, as if it's there because I can't handle a little pain, um, I've had fucking _Robin_ use my freaking anesthetic you stupid proud dodo bird with your stupid little _I can handle it_ when you obviously fucking _can't_ , yeah, thanks, would it _kill_ you to lose the _attitude_ like I do _not_ need to convince _another_ stubborn idiot that anesthetic is fine like it's not even that much work you literally just _rub it into the area_ around the wound, would it _kill_ you to just..."

She's interrupted by the sound of laughter.

"Lor _dy_ ," Jason laughs from her bedroom, "And here I was thinking that you were some goody two shoes."

Steph considers throwing something at Jason's head and promptly decides that she does _not_ need the extra blood spilled all across her room. (The smell of disinfectant has literally _just_ worn off from the last time someone bled all over her walls and then Jason freaking Todd decides to make a mess _all over again_.) "I _am_ a goody two shoes!" She yells back, and Jason's laughter intensifies.

Steph finishes up the pikelets and puts some of them neatly onto two plates before carrying them into her bedroom, where Jason is finishing up his stitches.

She raises an eyebrow, "As someone who has seen Alfred stitch up the great grump man, your stitches are the neatest I've seen."

"Thanks," Jason squints at her, "Pancakes? At _midnight_?"

Steph rolls her eyes, "Its like, eleven. At worst." She pauses and whips her head to look at her watch, "Wait. No." She lets loose a few expletives that impress even Jason and then groans, "I have _class_ tomorrow."

"Ah," Jason makes sympathetic noises, "That sucks. Do I still get pancakes?"

Steph glares at him. "You're cleaning up your own blood."

He inclines his head, "Naturally."

"Don't play nice."

A sharp grin. "Whatever you say, blondie."

Steph looks like she wants to snarl, but seems to think the better of it, and deflates. "Okay, here's the deal. I've had a long day, you've had a long night, and pancakes make everything better. So we're going to ignore everything I just said, we're going to eat the pancakes, play nice, clean the blood together, and then you take the bed."

Jason blinks at her, "...I take the bed?"

Steph bristles, "Don't go all stupid on me and be like 'ooh, I can take the couch' because I am _not_ in the mood."

Jason takes a bite of his pikelet, "Duly noted. Can I have some syrup?"

Steph raises an eyebrow.

Jason tilts his head, "Okay, point, but..."

Steph raises _both_ eyebrows.

Jason takes another bite. "You are a very good cook."

Steph takes a bite of her own pikelet, somehow making the move incredibly aggressive and weary, "I know. Thanks."

* * *

It turns out that Jason is in her college course on Fantasy and Horror in Literature, which would be great, fantastic, except it means that she kind of has to deal with it when one Dick Grayson stalks Jason there every week.

"Hey, Steph," Dick beams at her, and Steph's eyebrow twitches.

"Hello, Mr. Kettle," she answers, feeling a bit more concerned about her ratty gray hoodie than Dick Grayson has any right to make her feel.

He frowns and twirls a pencil between two fingers, looking impeccable in yoga pants and a form fitting tank top, "Just as a heads up, Cass wants to meet up with you tonight."

"Lovely, thanks," Steph grounds out, "Don't you have places to be?"

Dick slings an arm over Jason's shoulder, "Hanging out with Jaybird is the only place I need to be right now."

Jason looks like he's torn between hugging Dick and ripping out his larynx.

"In _my_ lit class?" Steph crosses her arms, "I thought that you didn't want to be involved with me."

Jason looks very, very confused.

Dick looks as uncomfortable as Dick can look, which is to say, fairly comfortable. "Batgirl has always been separate from Batman, even in Oracle's time."

"Yeah," Steph snorts, "Which is why you tried so hard to get me to quit."

Jason raises a hand, "To be fair, Dick also spent like eight months alternating between silent treatment-ing me and trying to force me to quit..."

"You literally replaced him," Steph stares at Jason, "Dick spent like, a _week_ being mad at Bruce before he decided that Tim was his new best friend..."

"I literally ignored Bruce for _two weeks_ ," Dick whines, "That's got to count for _something_..."

"He made _Damian_ Robin," Steph continues, "Like, _before_ he got cute..."

"It was a calculated decision..."

"He did snog with Babs..." Jason muses, and Dick throws up his hands.

"I am feeling _so attacked_ right now."

And gosh, doesn't that give Steph some vicious satisfaction?

"Good," she says, "Please leave."

"You heard her, Dickie," Jason pecks Dick on the cheek, "Leave before we make you."

Dick, thankfully, leaves, seeming too pleased with the rare show of brotherly affection to argue.

Jason turns to Steph, "He didn't like you being Batgirl?"

Steph groans, "I don't even want to _think_ about it, he was _such_ a hypocrite."

"He over it now?" Jason links his fingers behind his head.

"Oh yeah," Steph slumps into her spot next to Jason, "Did you notice those yoga pants, though?"

"I _know_ , right? I swear I saw just about everyone... _including_ the professor... checking him out."

"So unfair."

"He doesn't even notice."

Steph buries her head in her arms, "I need to look like that."

"You're blue-eyed and blonde, what more do you want?"

"To not be treated like a ditz?"

"And here I thought you were one."

Steph jabs Jason in the side. He intercepts and moves to twist her arm but she ends up kicking him in the shins until he's too busy crying and laughing to do anything.

"That hurts," he snickers.

"Shut up," Steph may or may not leave a few bruises on Jason's shins.

Truly, this is a beautiful relationship.

* * *

Steph, it turns out, doesn't do too well with skulls.

Or rather, she's okay with _clean_ skulls, or even bloody skulls, but catacomb skulls, skulls that are covered in ash or soot or even dirt, she can't handle, as Jason finds out when they go trick or treating together and Steph has a near panic attack when a bunch of blackened skulls drop from the top of the porch.

She screams, and Jason's ready to tease her except she _slams_ against the nearest wall and goes perfectly, utterly, _still_.

No.

Not still.

 _Poised._

Spine curved, fists up, stance incredibly stable (Jason's almost jealous at how fast she's put it up, had easily she shifts her centre of gravity), but subtle, _oh so subtle_ , and Jason watches as her breathing slows, eyes wide and alert, and he thinks _I remember this_.

Remembers walking into the first drugstore after his resurrection on Halloween, seeing the clown masks, remembers Dick restraining him as he goes _nuts._

And this, this is a panic attack, but it's not the kind that he's used to (Jason is used to hyperventilation, to blinding rage and fear that drowns out anything else, he isn't used to this hypervigilance, this readiness to fight with fear controlling every movement).

"Breathe for me," he says, and then thinks, _right, stupid, she's already breathing_.

Steph's fists tighten, and blood trickles down her wrist.

"I need you to loosen up," he says, and she presses her shoulder against the wall. " _Steph_ , talk to me."

She breathes.

In.

Out.

Jason matches it.

Slow.

Steady.

Steph unwinds, hands falling to her side, back straightening.

"I need to go to..." she runs her fingers through her hair, and blood gets caught up in it. She barely seems to notice as her hair scrapes along the crescents in her palms, doesn't even flinch, her brow furrows, and Jason realizes that she doesn't know where she wants to go.

"How about my place," he suggests, and she nods slowly.

"Yeah," Steph breathes, "...Thanks."

"No prob," Jason stares at his toes, "I get it."

Steph is silent. Doesn't laugh, doesn't empathize, just watches him.

Jason lifts his shoulders, uncomfortable, and turns, "Taxi?"

A wince. "Okay."

"Not okay." Jason raises an eyebrow, "Do you need to hold my hand?"

Steph laughs, "Like I'm ten?"

Jason grins back, hesitantly, "More like seven."

Steph takes his hand.

* * *

Jason doesn't see her again until two weeks later when Cass finds him and asks, "Video games?"

Jason nods and follows, Cass lithe and Jason feeling clumsy next to her despite all his training. Steph and Damian are already there, sparring.

He doesn't know her before and after, because Jason has never seen her before, he has always just known her as Batgirl and isn't that a bit of a kicker.

"Thank you," Cass says, tapping two fingers against Jason's biceps.

He shrugs, "Wasn't much."

Cass watches Steph as she flips Damian and Damian sweeps his feet under her knees. "Not like us. Needs people."

It's true. Steph is the closest to a civilian, the closest to normal, the closest anybody in the Bat-clan is to sane. And all things considered, Jason supposes that _that_ is a bit sad.

"Wasn't me that did much," Jason says, "You watched over her, these two weeks, right?"

Cass shakes her head, "Damian," she answers dismissively, "I am just here."

Jason grins at her, lopsided, "That's more than enough," he says.

"Just enough," Cass shrugs, "No more."

As Jason watches Damian and Steph finish sparring, bowing at each other and Steph laughing as Damian scowls at her, rubbing his hair and ducking away, he thinks that he's the same with her.

"Yeah," he agrees, "no more."

It's okay.

If it's enough, if it doesn't fall short, if he reaches the standard, Jason doesn't need to push for more.

Not yet, anyway.

"Hey, short stack!" Jason yells, waving as Damian finally catches sight of him. "Want me to beat your ass?"

Steph gives him a bright grin and a two-fingered wave when she sees him, "Nerd alert," she teases, and ruffles Damian's hair, "I'll leave you two alone, yeah?"

Cass whisks her off, and somehow Jason ends up sparring Damian while Cass creams Steph at Smash Bros, but that's okay somehow.

It's enough, and that's all that matters.


End file.
